Buttons - 'The Stanley Parable' Fan-Fiction
by Endless Button Pressing
Summary: Stanley suddenly finds that he isn't the only employee left. With the company of his new friend, the endless halls and endings of the office building begin to look less daunting. The Narrator has other plans, of course.


**CHAPTER ONE**

 **This Is The Story Of A Man Named Stanley**

Few things in this world are as frightening as finding yourself lost. Every man or women, down to the youngest toddler, has experienced this. Whether you lost your mom in the store, or found yourself driving through a shifty neighborhood—or worse.

Now imagine that you're lost forever. Doomed to tread the empty, winding halls of your own work building, never to see the light of day again. Not even death can grant you leave. A mortal ghost.

This was the predicament that Stanley found himself in. But unlike most horrors, it didn't appear to him that he _was_ in a sticky situation, until he'd long since arrived at work. There was no heart-wrenching leap in his chest, no tunnel-vision, no hyperventilating or even a tint of curiosity in this man as he sat—as per routine—at his computer.

Until he noticed the noises. The distant drone of office noises. Keys being pressed, computer mice being clicked, papers being shuffled into stacks. He even thought—as he sat there at his own desk—that he could hear the distant voices of employees. Yet it seemed—somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind—that he hadn't noticed anyone enter the building after him.

Still he waited, sitting dutiful as ever in front of that blank computer screen, curser flashing green without any words following it. Without any commands.

 _"_ _And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley. Something he would never quite forget."_ a melodious, British man's voice boomed from overhead, making Stanley—for the first time in a very long time—jump. It occurred to him that the voice had been talking for awhile already. As if Stanley hadn't noticed until now. As if his brain had been unable to focus on anything but the computer screen.

 _"_ _He had been at his desk for nearly an hour, when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow."_ the voice continued, mysterious, yet bold. As if... No.

 _"_ _No one had showed up to give him instructions. Call a meeting. Or even say, 'hi'."_ the voice read the lines off with calculated emotion. It was as if... No. But it was as if there was a narrator.

 _"_ _Never in all his years at the company, had this happened. This complete isolation."_ the last words were pronounced with a darker tone. Stanley stood from his swivel chair, pushing it to the side as his mind muddled further. The voice wasn't coming from above, like your typical loud-speaker. It was coming from all around. But in a crystal clear way—not muffled by speaker-static—that seemed to disorient Stanley.

 _"_ _Something was very clearly wrong."_ Stanley stiffened. The voice was _inside his head_.

 _"_ _Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time."_ his breath quickened, eyebrows knitting together in concern. He was going mad. He had to be. There was no other explanation. He must leave work immediately, and head to the hospital.

Somehow this thought encouraged Stanley—because it was logical. It was logical to think that he was crazy. It explained the unexplainable.

 _"_ _But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk, and stepped out of his office."_

Somehow, hearing the voice say exactly what he'd planned on doing, unnerved him further. He didn't trust it—why should he? He didn't _want_ to do what it said he would. That was... Robotic!

As soon as this thought entered his mind, he shivered in realization. Robotic? So was sitting at a computer for an hour, waiting for commands that never came. So was sitting at a computer at all, waiting for commands. Commands that told him which buttons to press.

Stanley smiled now. It was encouraging to think of buttons. Buttons were orderly, reliable, things to press. Fun things, that made beeps of accomplishment when pushed! Computer keys were just finger-sized buttons with click-noises. Almost just as fun.

OH. Now he shuddered, coming back to his senses. Now _that_ had been a robotic thought. Not that robots did think. But he wasn't a machine—he refused to be!

Drawing in a deep, determined breath, he walked with prompt force out the door of his office. Only a few feet out, the narration came back, making him start. He noticed with a strange fear that all the other desks were empty, not a worker in sight.

 _"_ _All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room. Perhaps he had simply missed a memo."_

Walking with swift steps towards a fellow employee's door, he reached for the knob. It jiggled. That was it. It jiggled some more. The next door did the same thing—as did the one on its other side. And the one on the other wall. _All_ the doors were locked.

 _"_ _Stanley went around touching EVERY little thing in the office. But it didn't make a single difference. Nor did it advance the story in any way."_ the voice was annoyed now.

This surprised Stanley, and for a moment he felt a bout of anxiety upon angering anyone—even if they were a disembodied voice. He had stepped out of line.

Without thinking further, he dashed out of the room—down a hall—through another equally empty room—and down yet another hall. He scurried around, glancing through each window that he came to, looking into dim-light offices with empty chairs and bright screens. There were things up on most of these screens, as if everyone had dropped all their activities and left. Or—he didn't like this thought—they had vanished.

The office noises were still there, now fading into the distance as he left his section of the building behind—but still the source of the noises remained unknown. Perhaps he should go back. Wait for some more commands, like a good little worker.

Upon turning around, it astonished him to see that the door he'd just entered through, had closed on its own accord. Even more astonishing, was when he jiggled the handle, and—just like every other door—it wouldn't budge. There was nowhere to go, but through the next open door.

Stepping through this door, it shut behind him with a swinging click.

 _"_ _When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left."_ the voice was right, in it's annoying, narrative way. Stanley was now in a room of only two doors. Quite a bland, pointless room, in his opinion. There was a pair of filing cabinets to his right, with papers spilling out of them and onto some uncomfortable looking chairs.

Still, just the two doors.

Well, if anything was certain, he was not going to enter the left one. There was no reason to trust the voice. And besides, curiosity nagged at him. What would happen if he disobeyed the narration?

And so he entered the door on his right.

 _"_ _This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew it perfectly well. Perhaps he wanted to stop by the employee lounge first, just to admire it."_

Oh, that was clever. Had the voice come up with a solution to Stanley's disobeying, to keep the story going? Or perhaps two doors _were_ part of some elaborate story. Perhaps the voice would have said something else if he'd entered the left door. If this really was a narrated story, as it seemed, then chances were, everything this disembodied British man was saying, was written down beforehand. A script.

Or an amazingly detailed prank on Stanley, from all of his coworkers. But the chances of this, somehow seemed more slim than his life being a living book. Or a game, more like.

Stanley came out into the employee lounge, door snapping closed behind him. The Narrator gave a sigh of pleasure, on cue.

 _"_ _Ah, yes. Truly a room worth admiring! It had really been worth the detour after all. Just to spend a few moments here in this immaculate beautifully constructed room. "_ The Narrator's voice sounded pleased. More pleased than normal about an employee lounge.

Stanley glanced around, heading towards the far door. It was true, the employee lounge was a much nicer room than the average office. It had a vending machine, chairs, a coffee table—even newspapers. But still he thought that the Narrator was putting on a show.

Stepping through the door he proceeded down a hallway, The Narrator picking back up.

 _"_ _But eager to get back to business, Stanley took the first open door on his left."_ there was a subtle emphasis on 'first', The Narrator wanted Stanley to follow directions this time.

Passing the door without a second glance, he headed through another—this one at the hallway's end. It was becoming a tad fun to disobey the Narrator, realized Stanley with an inward chuckle. As he did so, the voice came back, this time annoyance showing clear in its tone.

 _"_ _Stanley was so bad at following directions, it's incredible he wasn't fired years ago."_

Stanley—a bit disgruntled now that the voice was so aware of his actions—found himself in a huge room. It was a cargo dock, with trucks far below him, halfway unloaded of their deliveries. The walls stretched both below and above—lined with crates and boxes of all sizes. This was by far the largest room that the office building had to offer.

Walking towards the edge of the platform, where everything dropped straight down to a certain death, he found himself stepping onto a cargo lift. The lift—square and sturdy—began to go up. This was peculiar, since he hadn't done anything other than step on.

 _"_ _Look Stanley, I think perhaps we've gotten off on the wrong foot here."_ the word 'here' stretched off into a disagreeable purr. _"I'm not your enemy, really I'm not,"_ said the Narrator, half-convincing. _"I realize that investing your trust in someone else can be difficult. But the fact is that the story has been about nothing but you, all this time!"_ now the voice arched in a happy rhythm, seeming excited, perhaps even hopeful. Stanley began to wonder if his actions had been rude after all.

 _"_ _There's someone you've been neglecting, Stanley. Someone you've forgotten about. Please, stop trying to make every decision by yourself—now—I'm not asking for me—I'm asking for Her."_ at the mention of an ominous 'her', Stanley grew excited. Had he really forgotten somebody? Somebody important to him?

The lift came to a stop on the other side of the room, having traveled it's high route to the next landing. Stepping off rather quickly—heights didn't agree with him—he listened with intense curiosity to the next words.

 _"_ _This is it Stanley. Your chance to redeem yourself. To put your work aside—to let Her back into your life."_ the Narrator's voice cracked with emotion. _"She's been waiting."_

Pulse racing by now, Stanley found himself charging through the door before him. At such a speed, in fact, that it came as a complete surprise to him when his path was stopped by a warm mass of—employee?

Blinking in shock, he crashed to the floor, upper-half squishing another person. A women.

The two lay there, a confused mess of limbs and wide-eyed expressions, until the women shifted, uncomfortable. Stanley leaped to his feet, staggering a little as he extended a helping hand.

She took it—grateful—and stumbled to a stand.

"Y-You startled me!" she gasped, but it wasn't from anger, or even exasperation. It was relief. Stanley understood this—it felt amazing to see another human being. So he nodded, smiling a quivering smile. She smiled back.

"I—I'm Elmarie. Yeah, it's—it must be a pretty funny name. My—my parents couldn't decide on Ellie or Mary, so... You know..." she stopped. "I'm rambling." There was another awkward pause, in which she waited for Stanley's response. He simply smiled, dazed.

"It's nice to meet you... Ah... You?" cocking her head to one side, she flashed him an embarrassed smile. Conversations didn't usually work this way.

Stanley started, eyes flashing wide as he exclaimed. "Oh! Oh oh—I'm—hello there, Elmarie—Stanley! That's my name." he blinked, profuse.

"Elmarie Stanley?" she smiled, playful. In the sight of another employee, it was too good a moment not to feel light and willing to pull someone's leg. Even if that person happened to be a stranger, who happened to have run over you moments before. That was alright.

Stanley shook his head with furious motion, bumbling over his words with the grace of a large, happy dog. "No no—sorry—just—just Stanley. That's just me. I'm Stanley. Not—you. Right?"

Elmarie's eyes twinkled. "Oh yes, I'm not usually other people."

Stanley scuffed the toes of his shoes against the floor, hands in pockets as he smiled, cheeks flushing a light red. "Me too."

"Well that makes the both of us. Now, say—where were you heading in such a hurry?" Elmarie asked, quizzical.

Stanley hunched his shoulders, awkward. "Nowhere, in particular... Ah." glancing around, he dropped his voice to a mumble. "Wherever the Narrator doesn't want me too." as soon as he'd said this, he rather wished that he hadn't. Here he was, in a vast building with no one—it seemed—but Elmarie, and no apparent way out. Here he was, with the best chance of making a survival partner—and he'd blown it. He'd gone and told her about his insanity.

Instead, her reaction was quite the opposite of what he'd expected.

"OH! You can hear him too?" she gasped, clasping her hands and looking for all the world an excited schoolgirl. "I thought I'd gone mad!"

Stanley didn't mean too do what he did next. He really didn't. You shouldn't blame the poor man, really, after thinking that he'd gone crazy. Meeting someone like oneself is always beautiful. But meeting someone who is in the _exact_ same predicament as you—and learning that you either aren't insane—as previously thought—or have a partner in insanity—that is just as beautiful, but amplified a few hundred times.

So please forgive Stanley, for grabbing Elmarie's hand, and dashing towards the next door. He swore afterward that grabbing a strange woman and dragging her into a dark, dead-end room was not his intentions. Goodness knows how it looked.

Elmarie made not a noise of surprise, either too shocked or too thrilled to say anything. But even if she had been speaking, she would have stopped once the door clicked shut behind them, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Stanley found himself frozen as a light cut on with a terrible noise. It was a blinding light-bulb, hung from a long, swinging, creaking cored that attached to the ceiling. As it swung, sending it's bright circle of light across the floor, he realized what it was illuminating.

A yellow house-phone sat on a small table in the center of the otherwise vacant room. It rang every few seconds, the noise piercing his ears in the small space. The ringing and the interrogation-type light struck an ominous fear into his heart, though he wasn't sure why.

He'd almost forgotten about the Narrator during his dash of joy. Now the British voice reminded him painfully that he was still trapped in some nightmarish story.

 _"_ _That's Her Stanley. You need to be the one to do this. To reach out to Her."_ the narration was loaded with emotion. Somehow, the Narrator now sounded more like a worried friend than a heartless writer. Stanley found his heart-wrenching for this unknown Her.

 _"_ _If you can truly place your faith in another, than pick up the phone..."_ wherever this Narrator sat, far from the nightmares of his creations, there were tears budding in his eyes. Stanley could hear his voice cracking with them.

He did as he was told. He picked up the phone. The ringing stopped, the click of the receiver being lifted echoed throughout the room, as the duo were plunged into darkness once more. He was dimly aware now, of his hand gripping Elmarie's in a tight, solemn way. She gripped back.


End file.
